


From Here To There

by shuns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21912787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuns/pseuds/shuns
Summary: Instead of facing a lonely Christmas, Hermione joins Kingsley on the goblin’s Treasure Train. Too bad Lucius stowed away and is about to complicate things. By journey’s end, they will all find a way to get From Here to There.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48
Collections: Smutty Claus Exchange





	From Here To There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/gifts).



> Happy Christmas silverlioness!
> 
> I used these prompts from your request list:
> 
> *Spy!Hermione, she is sent into the Serpents Den by Dumbledore insisting Snape needs help. What neither expects is how close she comes to embracing the velvety dark magic, neither do they comprehend whom she has fallen in love with.
> 
> *Hermione is trapped with some Death Eaters on a train. A murder happens, she has to team up with Kingsley and Lucius and one other to solve the murder.
> 
> Tropes I enjoy: Enemies to Lovers, Spy!Hermione, Grey Hermione, Redeemed Death Eaters
> 
> Kinks I enjoy: Light BDSM, Praise Kink, Older Man/Younger Woman

* * *

## Chapter 1 A sickle for your thoughts

_Three years ago…_

Hermione stretched, popping her back as she unbent from the hunched position she maintained for the last twenty-seven hours collating testimonies and evidence for the latest round of Snatchers brought in for trial. Those bastards would go to Azkaban, but this DMLE would do it by the book. But why did _heroic acts_ necessitate such _epic stacks_ paperwork? 

After the Battle of Hogwarts, newly appointed Minister Shacklebolt awarded the Golden Trio battlefield commissions with the DMLE. The boys joined the Aurors; she requested Litigation. The days were long, but they made hay; Azkaban was full to the brim with Death Eaters and Snatchers that had been captured and tried. Only a few die-hards remained at-large: Dolohov, the elder Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy. 

Hermione shuffled to the canteen still working out the kinks in her back. The coffee was awful, but she needed caffeine to salvage her day. She dug into her wallet to pay with a sickle -- that jumped out of her hand and rolled underneath the till. No amount of summoning could bring the coin forth. Sometimes Magic was batty. She reached for another sickle, but the same thing happened again. Every sickle, galleon, even the knuts slipped out of her grip. Hermione dumped her wallet, thinking that the tea witch could help herself to the fee, but the coins stayed stuck in the pouch. 

Strange. 

Frustrated and embarrassed, Hermione abandoned her coffee and had a miserable morning. Harry took pity on her and bought lunch. By the third day of coins rolling, bouncing and flipping away from her fingers, she’d had enough. 

On her lunch break, Hermione apparated to Gringotts, but paused at the threshold. The Goblins, still smarting from the theft of the Cup, and their dragon, and the destruction of their bank's roof, had lodged a formal complaint with the Ministry. Kingsley warned her to stay away from the bank. She understood, goblins held grudges. But her actions ended the War. Straightening her shoulders, she grasped the handle and threw open the door like a Gryffindor. Hermione Granger, war-hero, had done what needed to be done for the greater good which included the goblin kind. They would sit down, have a cup of tea, and talk this out like civilised people. 

What’s the worst that could happen? 

* * *

Lucius picked his way through the dark, dripping tunnel, his wand tip and patronus lighting the way. Turning the corner, Lucius watched his silver peacock strut forward then fan its shimmering tail, the dementor floating there cowered then melted into the shadows revealing the cell door. As he approached, Lucius wrinkled his nose, the unwashed mudblood reeked. He cast a zephyr to freshen the air. 

He addressed the filthy pile of rags and matted hair in the corner “How are you today, Miss Granger? Still enjoying your accommodations?” 

A dirty face looked up, wincing at even the small light. “Ha-Harry will come for me.” Her voice croaked, he assumed she damaged it from screaming in the dark during this first week. The goblins had been surprised by how noisy she was. The addition of the Dementor changed that. “He’ll figure out what you are doing and come get you, Lucius.” 

Lucius frowned _perceptive little mudblood_. He had enough of her hair to bottle and sell Polyjuice à la Granger. The enchanted the coins in her pay packet lured her to Gringotts, which delighted his hosts - the goblins. He planned to assume her identity to leave the bank and begin to repair his life, but this part of the plan had gone, as Rodolphus would say, ‘tits up’. Being Hermione Granger was hard work. Then there were her friends. Smacking the uncouth ginger cretin had been unwise but satisfying. He was ill-mannered and handsy. After that slip, Potter had been watching him, well Hermione/him, carefully. It could have ended badly, but Lucius was lucky. “Perhaps, but right now, Mr Potter is in Russia following a lead on Dolohov. Russia is a large country, vast, huge even. I expect him back ... in three weeks, perhaps a month.”

She stared into space, and he could almost see when her mind finally ticked over formulating a comeback. Her smile was saccharine, “And how is Mademoiselle Black?”

Lucius bristled. Within Gringotts walls, he was untouchable. No one knew he was here, including his family. He had felt Narcissa rip apart their marriage bond. He didn’t need the Prophet’s headline “Malfoy No More” to know what had happened. She had let Magic judge him and he had been found wanting. Mademoiselle Black and Draco had petitioned Potter as the Heir of House Black for shelter, and he had given it to them.

All he could do was watch. 

_After the Battle, he, Narcissa and Draco retreated to the Manor. He planned to grab a few of the heirlooms, engage blood wards to prevent anyone from entering the Manor, and buy sanctuary at Gringotts. A fidelius to secret keep the location would be preferable, but there wasn’t time._

_He had just started to lay out his plan when he heard the pops of apparition. Crabbe Sr., Rodolphus, Dolohov and a handful of the Snatchers were on the lawn, wands drawn. Crabbe ran towards the house shouting for Draco and promising to kill him for ‘taking my boy’. Narcissa’s_ avada kedavra _dropped him mid-run; his body’s momentum propelled him to roll and tumble twice before it came to rest on the grass, his lifeless eyes looking up. Rodolphus and the Snatchers made it to the verandah. The air was heavy with their spellfire. Lucius dodged Rodolphus’s_ confringo _with a laugh until he felt the warmth at his back. Flames engulfed the entire side of the house. The Manor, awash in Dark Magic, had caught fire like a roman candle. Lucius tried dousing it with water, but it didn’t slow the spread._

 _Then caterwaul charm went off, meaning the Auror’s had arrived. Rodolphus, Dolohov and the Snatchers apparated away. Lucius had shouted for Narcissa and Draco, but when he moved towards them, her wand slashed the air. Only a hasty shield stopped the curse that would have torn his limbs from his body. “Go." Her tone was flat and dead. He activated the portkey that brought him to Gringotts lobby._

Lucius’s eyes followed his peacock’s parade across the cell, “She is well.”

Her laugh creaked and wheezed, “I imagine she is, without you. Did she realise you were me when you went to see her? I would’ve liked to be a fly on that wall. Her pureblood husband masquerading as a notorious mudblood, I’ll bet the hexes still hurt.”

“Yes, she did realise it was me.” His first visit outside Gringotts had been to Narcissa. She had been unmoved by his entreaties, and the burns were still healing. But that was not why he was here. 

Malfoys turned a weak hand into a winning one. This was the reason why most of his regular card partners were goblins, but they had their uses. After the debacle in his drawing-room, Lucius had contacted the goblins seeking an exit strategy in case the Dark Lord lost or won. Goblins were bitey, surly creatures, but they were pragmatic, and their friendship was affordable. 

Lucius’s hidden exile cost him all the goblin wrought jewellery and trinkets in his vaults plus a flotilla of galleons, but it bought him time. Time to remove the Avada-on-sight attached to his name. Time to win Narcissa back. Time to rebuild trust with his son. Time to regain the lands and titles stripped from him by the Ministry. He would have it back — all of it. 

This grubby urchin would help. 

“Miss Granger, I am not here to trade insults with you. You broke goblin law. Defacing Goblin galleons, any of their coins for that matter is a crime against their craft. But you piled injury on top of insult when you stole from a vault under their protection, then you took their dragon, riding it out of the bank causing extensive property damage. Any one of these crimes could be punishable by death.”

Her chin came up, “Fine. Then kill me. I’m not afraid to die.”

He smiled _Gryffindors were so predictable_ , “So hasty to end it all? My apologies, Miss Granger, but a quick death is, alas, not in your cards. The goblins want you to have a long life filled with regret for your actions. Ignominy is what they seek. I promised them I could make it hurt.”

There was a snort from her, “Is the punishment listening to you gloat, because my ears are bleeding.”

Too bad dementors couldn’t suck sarcasm from their charges as well as hope, “No, Miss Granger though you will be listening to me quite often. They have appointed me your handler you will report to me. I will direct all your actions. You will spy for Gringotts, betraying your friends. Everything you do from now on _will_ be a lie.”

She was quiet and then she let out a laugh, “I’ll never do it, not even under an _imperius_.”

He stood quietly and let the silence stretch. “Well then, same time next week.” He turned and walked back to the main cavern — the crawling misery of the Dementor licking at his heels. Her whimpers and sobs followed him echoing and rebounding in a symphony of despair off the cold walls. 

* * *

Hermione lasted twenty-three days before she had crawled over to her cell door, begging him to end her torment. When he brought her to his office, Lucius cast a _scrougify_ on her before allowing her inside. When she moved towards one of the chairs in front of his desk, he barked at her to remain standing. He walked around the ornately carved desk that took up an entire side of the room to sit in his chair, modelled on the Bourbon throne. He pulled open a drawer and removed a silver scroll and a blood quill. He put them on the edge of the desk nearest her. Hermione’s eyebrows travelled upwards when she unrolled the scroll written in runic Futhark and the paper thinly pounded pure silver, taking Ancient Runes paid off. 

As she read her brow furrowed, “Do I have the option to make changes?”

Lucius met her gimlet stare, “No, Miss Granger, sign or return to your cell.”

Hermione considered for a long moment before grabbing the quill from the edge of his desk. She signed the contract, vow really, blood welling up from the scrapes on the back of her left hand. The scroll rolled up with a snap, melted and poured itself over her left wrist, forming a simple silver bracelet too tight to remove. 

“Welcome aboard, Miss Granger” his smile was vulpine, “I am so looking forward to having you under me.”

* * *

## Chapter 2 In for a sickle in for a galleon

_Three years later…_

Hermione rolled onto her side; her hand fisted in the crisp cotton of the bed’s sheets. Through the open door of her room’s balcony, she watched the sun slip low in the sky, the bright blue of the hazy afternoon darkening to blue then purple and the clouds turning a dusky pink. With the heat of the day gone, Istanbul bustled below. The setting sun caught fire and lit the sky a blazing orange of the ancient and modern skyline. 

“Beautiful,” the rich bass voice rumbled through her. Hermione’s stomach clenched. That voice could make her wet with just one word. It wasn’t fair. 

The curly-headed witch rolled over and looked up at a bare-chested Kingsley through half-lidded eyes. He looked like he was carved from some exotic wood like wenge or cocobolo. “The sunset is spectacular. Istanbul has the most fantastic light. Sadly, the brilliant sunsets are due to pollution…”

He leaned down, nipping at her earlobe interrupting her diatribe, “I wasn’t talking about the sunset.” He caught her lips in a kiss as his hand wandered. One finger traced her stomach, then moved lower, teasing her hip bone, touching everywhere but where she wanted him. 

Tired of this game, Hermione grabbed his hand, twining their fingers together. She moved them to where her legs met, hoping he would understand. Just as their hands skimmed her tidy triangle of hair above her sex, he broke the kiss and pulled her hand up to his mouth and covered her palm with wet kisses interspersed with long licks. 

Hermione groaned. “Kings, please stop teasing. This isn’t fair.”

“Isn’t fair? That I’m teasing you? Funny that. Who sabotaged this morning’s discussion over flying carpet duties? I had just convinced the goblins to let the Ministry collect the duties and deposit them, and the Chief Büyücü of Byzantium agreed to peg duties to British Galleons. Then a picture pops into my head. Do you know what the picture was? A beautiful witch standing before me, completely naked, I was on my knees as she moved her soaking cunt against my mouth her juices covering my face, her fingers stroking my scalp in time with her hips. I pitched a tent in my trousers. I had to excuse myself, to fuck myself with my hand because I was so hard. When I returned, the goblins had not only convinced Chief Büyücü to use the Turkish nomisma for calculation, and they demanded that they collect the duties. It’ll cost the Ministry thousands that my dear isn’t fair. Sometimes I wonder if you are on the goblins’ side.”

Hermione smiled, “I’m sorry, but I was thinking of you. I let me legilimency slip. Didn’t Moody teach you occlumency? Where was your constant vigilance? You shouldn’t let me ‘penetrate’ your thoughts so easily.” 

He laughed. It was a rich, warm thing he flopped back into the pillows with mock exasperation, “You will never let me win, will you?”

“If I did you would fire my as your Head Negotiator.” 

Laughter crinkled the corners of his eyes as he gathered her up with one arm as the other moved lower and his fingers ghosted over the nub of her clit, then along her dewy slit. He was taking his time. He wanted to enjoy her naked body. His voice was deep and rumbly, “No, I would find another reason to keep you around.” He had thought of her all day, every day for months, and this was his reward for patience. He sank one thick finger into her wet passage. It offered almost no resistance, so ready was she for his touch. She arched into his caress, mewling with pleasure and twisting the sheets in her fists. 

He set up a slow rhythm, “Using mind magic on the Minister shouldn’t be allowed. I should make a law.” 

She sighed and moved against his hand, one finger was hardly enough, “What would we call it? Anti-Lascivious Legilimancy Act? Or maybe the No Dirty Thoughts Rule. Or make all negotiating parties sign the ‘Don’t Distract the Minister Memorandum’?”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have teased about occlumency as he read her mind and the second finger joined the first, and the base of his thumb rubbed against her mound, “I would call it the Hermione Granger Explicit Acts Ban, though I would repeal it when we are together.’ He bent over her and licked her nipple before sucking the tip of her breast in his mouth. 

An image appeared in his mind. He was curled around her like a cat, her arse against his chest her legs over his shoulders his hand on her hips. She rocked against his mouth as he ate her out. He released her nipple with a wet pop, “Naughty witch, use words. What do you want?”

Hermione gasped, “You, Kings, please, please, PLEASE!”

“Please is a good word, but not very descriptive. Be explicit, Hermione.” He leaned in for a heated snog all tongue and heat. He finished with a nuzzle against her nose as he pushed in the third finger her greedy pussy sucked them in. 

“Kings, please,” she keened, “eat me out. Lick along my slit, suck on my clit. Then fuck me with your cock. You know what I like. You do it so well.” Her hands were on his shoulders and nails digging half-moon circles there.

He turned on his side her pulled her rear up to his chest. He put her legs over his shoulders and curled his torso around hers. His face was level with her pretty pink cunt. The salty tang of her arousal hit his nose; when she was turned on he could smell it. Her brown eyes were black with desire, and her breath came out in desperate pants. The flush across her cheeks continuing down her neck to her chest, making her creamy skin rosy. His dark fingers stood out where he held her hips. 

He dipped his head, leaving soft kisses along her wet seam. Long lick with the flat of his tongue followed. She liked him starting from the outer folds then slowly working his way to her aching centre. He licked softly, lapping up the honey that poured out of that tasted of sex. When he had worked his way to the middle, he used the tip of his tongue to part her lips and to flick it back and forth. When his nose brushed against her clit she panted. Her hips bounced in his hands. If he didn’t hold her, she would have rocked away. “Oh, Kings, just like that, yes. Yes!”

He latched onto her clit, sucking the little nub into his mouth and tonguing her until her words were an incoherent whine. He smiled as he fell back to long, languid licks from her bottom to top, pushing his tongue into her, deeper each pass. Her juices coated his face, and her smell, taste, sounds and movements surrounded him. Closing his eyes, he gave himself a reprieve from the dead sexy witch laid out in front of him like a centrepiece lest he cum before her. 

Her fingers joined his, clutching him. Her breath heaved as she raced towards her orgasm. He could feel her jerk against him, tightening as she crested with a strangled cry then squeezed her thighs around his head. She wailed his name and collapsed sprawled on him. In a breathy voice, she said, “So good... You spoil me, Kings...But more… I need...SO much more. Please, can I have your cock? Inside?”

He moved underneath her peeling down his pyjamas and lying on his back. Then he manoeuvred her and until she straddled him. Her wet centre hovered over his cock with nudge he would be inside her. Then the little minx reached behind her, grabbed him and lowered herself down like a queen on a throne. Bracing her arms on either side of his head, she moved her hips, riding him with wet smacks as she bottomed out. The hitch on her downstroke as she kicked out her hips was getting him there fast. Everything was tight; he clamped down hoping to go just a little longer. She must have felt him holding back. Her hand stroked his face, “Don’t Kings, don’t hold back. This is the only place, the only time I get to have you. Cum for me.”

He looked into her eyes and caught in a landslide. He was destroyed. His snapped his hips, his sac making lurid noises against her bottom. He could feel his balls constrict. With a roar, he came, emptying himself. She bounced on him a few more times before keening at her second release and fell forward on his chest, nuzzling his neck leaving small kisses. 

“Well if you are trying to dissuade me from using occlumency when I get bored during delicate customs negotiations, you are doing a terrible job convincing me.”

Huffing, Hermione sat up looking for her robe. 

Kingsley frowned. He had hoped that she would want to stay for a snuggle or even the whole night; for once they didn’t have anywhere to be.

“Noted, I will try to keep my thoughts to myself from now on, Minister.”

He paused, considering his next move; it was risky, but if this worked, it would be worth it. They had been meeting in hotel rooms, broom closets even his office. He didn’t want to hide anymore. Many witches wanted to be Madame Shacklebolt, but he wanted this one. He reached over to the small table next to the bed for his wand. “Accio tickets.” Hermione shifted as two stones flew towards him. “Hermione, I know you wanted to keep our relationship quiet. There would be a lot of questions at the Ministry. Conflict of interest. Our age gap. But… I don’t care. I want you. I want to be with you. I want to hold you. I want you on my side. I want you and me to be an us.”

Hermione moved in his arms, trying to sit up, “Kingsley... Minister, you know we can’t do that. It will be all over the papers. Gods the Prophet will have a field day.” She shook her head and clenched her fists, “We can’t. Think of the scandal. You might be forced to step down. I don't want to be a scarlet witch, again. Have you forgotten what happened when Ron and I broke up? The Howlers, Kingsley! They massed making a howler storm that wrecked my office and compromised the structural integrity of the building." 

He reached for her hand. This time he wouldn’t let her put him off. “I know - I know. Being together in public would be … complicated. But I don’t want this to be a secret anymore. Could we try being together in private? Somewhere controlled, away from prying eyes. Come away with me on a trip. We can spend Christmas together.”

Hermione bit her lip. Her eyes were large and glassy. Kingsley knew he wasn’t playing fair. This time of year was hard for her. Christmas had been her favourite holiday until she modified her parents’ memory. She had celebrated with the Weasely's until her break- up with Ron, now the Borrow was lost to her. Her celebrations were meagre. 

“Please Hermione. I know all the reasons that we shouldn’t be together. But you can’t deny how we feel. I’m mad for you. If you just gave me the slightest indication, I could fall in love with you.”

“Oh Kingsley, you are so perfect...” 

Before she could add ‘but not for me’ as she had said before, he interrupted her. “Say you’ll come with me. I promise if you get sick of me, I’ll never ask again.”

“What if you get sick of me? Or found out something awful about me?” She had a queer, sad half-smile.

He leaned in for a soft kiss, just a brush over her lips, “That will never happen, love. I like all your prickly parts.” He kissed along her jaw then over to the corner of her mouth. He let his hand fall to her tangle of pubic hair, “Even this, though it is more fluffy than prickly.”

She giggled. Then stilled, her teeth dug into her lower lip. She looked up through lowered lashes, “Where are we going?”

Smiling at her cracking resolve, “I have two compartments on the Gringotts’s Treasure Train to Paris, leaving tomorrow.” He handed her the stone ‘tickets’. The runes were neatly inscribed with gold. ‘Written in Stone’ was originally a goblin expression that had caught on with wizards and then muggles. 

She looked up at him with shining eyes. The Treasure Train was the goblins' answer to the Orient Express, the Hogwarts Express and the Autobahn. A vast underground network of trains ran between the Gringotts branches in Europe. Like the banks, security was paramount, riding the train was a perk reserved for magical folk with either large or deep vaults. Goblins lacked the magic to travel quickly, so they made up for by travelling in style. Riders were surrounded by luxury. “Oh, you diabolical wizard. You know my weakness.”

“You and Agatha Christie. I had thought about the Nile, but I know you want to be back for the budget negotiations with the Wizengamot session in January. This is a leisurely train ride and perhaps a romantic stopover in Paris if you haven’t tired of me before returning to London.”

“It would be easier to just portkey home,” she scolded.

“You hate portkeys and you never take time off. Besides, I will be there to provide entertainment, in and out of bed. Say yes, Hermione.”

She looked at the tickets. She already knew her answer, “Two, compartments?”

“Well, some compartments are adjoining, they have doors that might even open up between them.”

“Might?” She ran a finger down his solid chest. 

“We’ll have to find out. It’s a mystery.”

She harrumphed but took one of the stone tickets and nodded her head slowly, “Okay, let’s give it a try.”

He pulled her down to him and covered her face in kisses, telling her how clever she was and how much fun they would have and that she would lose count of all the orgasms. Too soon night and his exertions caught up with him, and he fell fast asleep. 

Hermione untangled herself from his arms, spying her robe. It had landed somewhere on the other side of the room. She put it on and walked outside to enjoy the velvety night from his balcony. She cared for Kingsley. She knew he loved her. She could love him if she let herself try. But a yawning chasm lay between them filled with lies, deceit, and Lucius.

 _Lucius was strange. The contract she signed three years ago was like a bond, a vow, patronage. She felt ... things. She didn’t like him, certainly didn’t love him, but she couldn’t stand to disappoint him. When Lucius gave her tasks, she felt compelled to complete them. His assignments were hard and demanding; he wanted to know everything that went on in the Ministry. She rose to the challenge every time. Failure would crush her. He was free with his frowns, but a miser with his praise, when it came, it lit her up like a_ lumos _._

_They spent hours talking about the machinations of the Ministry and the Wizengamot. He was the only person with whom she could unburden herself. In the beginning, she had avoided people lest they volunteer a secret she was obliged to report to Lucius. Besides, no one wanted to listen to her talk about Litigation. With nothing to do inside Gringotts, Lucius lived to hear news from the outside world. He would talk to her for hours analysing and speculating until she stopped him so she could get some sleep._

_He filled in the gaps in her education. Growing up muggle meant much of Wizarding culture and etiquette was lost on her. Lucius condescended to instruct her, a platinum-haired Henry Higgins to her curly Eliza Doolittle. When Kingsley offered her a promotion, stealing her away from Litigation, he commented on how well she handled witches and wizards whatever their background. He winked when he warned her not to steal his job. She bragged to Lucius, hoping to ruffle his feathers. No muggle-born had been Minister since Abraxas Malfoy had taken down Nobby Leach. She hoped for a fight; instead, Lucius retreated. He looked at her strangely, almost like he was seeing her for the first time. He dismissed her early that evening wanting to be alone._

_The next night she found him sitting at his desk with a roll of parchment. Taking her seat across from him, he tapped it with his wand. When fully unfurled, it must have been seven feet long. His neat script filled the scroll. It looked like a flow chart. She saw runes and arithmancy calculations. Too curious to stop herself, she stood and examined it, “What is it?” she asked._

_“This is how you will become the next Minister of Magic.”_

_She laughed, “That will never happen. Your father made sure no muggle-born would ever hold the position again. Why would you, of all wizards, want me, a filthy little mudblood, sullying that august office.”_

_He raised an eyebrow in a teasing way, but his eyes were hot, “Because you are my mudblood. I am responsible for you, just as you are obligated to me. Play your cards right, and we both get what we want. And, Miss Granger, a future Minister of Magic, should not use coarse language. Never refer to yourself as a mudblood again.”_

_She could still remember what it felt like when he had said that to her. The floor lurched under her feet as the Earth rocked off its access. Why else would Lucius consider her not only able to lead the Ministry but worthy to do so?_

Hermione’s thoughts floated back to the soft, sultry night in Istanbul. Without Lucius, she would not be here. Kingsley would have been out of her reach. Instead, he snored quietly in the room while she thought about another man. She owed Lucius, but she wanted what Kingsley offered, even if it was just a taste.

She summoned a quill and a scrap of parchment, writing a quick note about the days’ activities, including her success with goblins administering the duties. He didn't need to know how she did it, just that she did it. He didn't need to know about Kingsley. She informed Lucius she would make her way back to London and would see him in three days. With a whispered spell, the paper folded itself into a butterfly, floated away, then vanished with a pop. They had created paper apparition to get around the publicly controlled floo network and the awkward size of two-way mirrors. 

She gnawed her lip as she returned to the room and the large warm man sprawled across the bed. She hadn’t given either of them any reason to be suspicious. She tucked herself into Kingsley’s side, letting his arm drape over her. 

It would work out for the best, right? 

* * *

"Are you sure this is the right place?” Weeds pushed up between broken concrete. Bottles and trash littered the ground. Beyond a rusted chain-link fence, a large, dingy warehouse squatted, blighting the landscape. 

Kingsley’s eyebrow quirked. “Oh, Hermione, you still judge books by their covers.” He slipped his arms through hers, gallantly, and walked her through the creaky gate. 

As she passed over the threshold, the light lost its grey cast and the bleak post-industrial wasteland transformed into a lush garden with more shades of green than words to describe them. A tiled pool ran the length of the garden where water sprites played and sprayed, creating a fountain without any artifice. Enormous topiaries lined the avenue. They shifted subtly as she and Kingsley walked. “They move to show you their best side,” Kingsley whispered, “Vain things.” 

A light breeze set the bellflowers chiming. Hermione stopped in front of a tree that was a kaleidoscope of colour; the leaves looked like small fans similar to a ginkgo tree. She reached out a finger to touch, and the ‘leaves’ took flight leaving the branches bare. She turned to Kinsley with a stricken face not sure if she had killed the plant, “Don’t worry flutterlings are shy, they’ll return.”

The garden was beautiful, but the train station was fantastic. Outside the illusion, the derelict building crouched, but inside it soared. The walls were an airy lattice that had more in common with lace than the marble they were sculpted from. 

The entry would dwarf a giant, Hermione’s mouth gaped. Magical pictures no longer impressed her but the mosaics that decorated the walls were alive in rich hues and vibrant scenes of magical creatures. Truly alive. She stood transfixed as a Hungarian Horntail took flight up the wall to the ceiling and then back again. It swooped and roared with tiny tiles shifting colour to create the flames that blazed from its mouth. She stepped back reflexively to avoid the heat, bumping into a passer-by. Hermione rounded on the person, apologies on her lips. 

She snapped her mouth shut when she recognised Narcissa Malfoy. Well, Narcissa Black. Mademoiselle Black corrected anyone who made the mistake of calling her Lady Malfoy, usually by making their own shoes to bite them. 

Narcissa’s look frosted when she recognised Hermione. Harry may have testified on her behalf, saving her from Azkaban, but Hermione’s testimony about her torture on the Malfoy’s drawing-room floor made her a social pariah. 

Spotting Kingsley, Narcissa’s brow rose. Hermione took a step back, distancing herself from the Minister, but it was too little too late. She hadn’t thought about hiding her identity as they travelled. It was moments like these where she rued how small the magical community was, “My apologies Miss Granger -- Minister. The mosaics are quite life-like I can understand your reaction.” She looked between them with a voice too light to be anything but a stab and asked, “Traveling together?”

Smooth as cream, Kingsley chuckled, “It looks like it everyone’s day to bump into Miss Granger. I did myself at the Station Garden’s threshold. I was delighted to find we are both travelling northward towards Paris. Though I may stop at the Gringotts in Chur to give my Yule greetings to the Supreme Mugwump.” Kingsley genial smile seemed unforced; it wasn’t. “And you Mademoiselle Black? Are you taking the Northward route toward Paris as well? Meeting anyone interesting for Yule?” 

Narcissa’s lips thinned to a line, and her fingers tightened around the ribbon binding a medium-sized black box the only piece she touched. The rest of her extravagant matched luggage floated behind her. “What are you insinuating, Minister? I live a quiet life of exile at one of the Black family holdings. I don’t find my company much in demand these days. I haven’t seen Lucius or any other Death Eater since the night my former husband let our home burn to the ground as his associates tried to kill our son. Magic dissolved our marriage bond that night. Anything else you want to know Auror Shacklebolt? Shall I quaff some veritaserum?”

“No, but you could join us for a drink tonight.” Kingsley volunteered. Hermione was surprised at how much Narcissa was willing to share, but if she was living a self-imposed exile, then she was probably starved for conversation. Lucius was. She couldn’t wait to share this insight with him. 

Narcissa’s look, frosty before, iced over, going glacial. Hermione was sure she would not be joining them for a drink. Ever. “I will consider it if my schedule allows.” With a curt nod, she spun away in a flurry of designer acromantula silk with her luggage dancing a passable conga after her. 

Hermione grinned at Kingsley, “Don’t go poking dragons, Kings. I have plans for those fingers. And I would rather not have them hexed off. Now, I am bursting to get aboard, please I can’t wait to see my compartment. Or yours.” 

He squeezed her hand instead of an inappropriate kiss in public. He had bowed to convention and booked two compartments adjoining so they could keep up appearances. But if he had his way, the door between them would be kept wide open. 

They walked towards the train platform — a glossy black engine with smart green cars ticked and hissed like a hippogriff spoiling for a fight. Narcissa was a few people ahead in the queue. Between them were two older ladies with sour looks plastered on their faces. They stomped across the platform with heavy tread tugging along the ugliest crup/mongrel mix Hermione had ever seen. Kingsley leaned in, “It looks like that poor crup was made from all the pieces left over.” Hermione giggled. 

One of the older women turned towards Hermione, jumping when she recognised the curly-haired war hero. Hermione braced herself for an autograph request or perhaps a lecture about ‘poor heart-broken Ron’. The first old biddy elbowed the second pointing and gawking. “Look who it is, Hermione Granger, and Narcissa Black, we’re surrounded by famous people.”

Hermione put on her public smile. “That is a nice crup you have there. Do you mind if I pet him?”

She leaned down with a hand extended and the crup pulled on its leash and snapped. It would have gotten Hermione’s finger but for Kingsley pulling her back as the crup’s teeth closed on air. 

One of the biddies chastised the dog as the other started to stammer when she realised Kingsley was there. Luckily, the old hags were the next to be called, and they hurried off to their compartments. 

Kingsley pulled their ‘tickets’, the two red-brown agate eggs, from his inner pocket. The date and time of the departure glowed in gold script. Kingsley handed the stones to a goblin in green livery who showed them to two compartments in the third car. The first car was armoured and warded for the treasure it transported between branches of Gringotts. When tapped with a wand, the egg displayed the rules and restrictions for riding on the Train. The first being that as a working train; passengers accepted they were ancillary to the treasure transported. 

Like Gringotts the Train bristled with wards, armour and other protections, the extreme security measures were part of the appeal. Chain apparition and portkeys allowed travel over long distances quickly, but it was draining. For older witches and wizards or those who had less robust magical reserves, the Train provided a leisurely alternative. What was a three-day journey between Istanbul and Paris when you were 300 years old? 

The grim little goblin escorted them through the train, pointing out recreational options in the second car which included a swimming pool, billiards room and floating dance floor. The third, fourth and fifth cars contained sleeping compartments kitted out with every luxury a witch or wizard would expect at one of the finer resorts. The sixth car was the dining room and bar. The seventh car included a sitting room with an observation deck and a broom racing track. The eighth car was that goblin only car presumably for sleeping and other goblin activities. 

Hermione’s compartment was halfway down car four. Kingsley’s was at the end, so much for adjoining rooms, his face darkened when he realised. The goblin floated their suitcases into the rooms; Kingsley passed him just a sickle and the goblin hissed. When they were alone, Hermione hopped up on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry we aren’t closer, but I like the thrill of sneaking around. See you in the bar for drinks at 7?”

“Yes, please.”

She slipped into her room, then leaned against the closed door. Her room was done in gold and dusky pinks with a large window. She had a small sitting space with a partition covered in a pretty mosaic of a garden forming a wall. Behind it, she found a bathroom and what she assumed was her bed. The train pulled out of the station, and the shadows lengthened at the train chugged downward underground. She felt around for a light then remembered her wand. She drew it, cast a _lumos, and_ nearly screamed. 

“Good afternoon Miss Granger,” purred Lucius Malfoy from her bed.

* * *

## Chapter 3 In for a knut, in for a galleon

“ _Statum sumat_.”* Hermione felt herself spinning as her clothing whipped off her body, her hair uncoiled, her knees bent so she knelt in front of him. He lounged on her bed like a giant cat. Her arms were wrenched back, and a wide silky ribbon wound around her wrists then laced themselves up to her elbows, securing them together. The jerk as the loops pulled tight, pulled her shoulders back and pushed her chest out for display. Her shoulder joints burned. She hated when he made her ‘assume the position’. He would toy with her for hours, and she didn’t have the time or patience for that today. 

A gloved hand reached out and stroked her cheek, His gloves, dove grey, matched his grey robes with a subtle silver pinstripe of his robe and trousers. His vest was silver satin shot through with deep blues and greens. The snowy white of his shirt and cravat gave him the look of a rarified dandy, though she knew better. 

“Ma Minette*, have you forgotten all your rules? Little kittens don’t leave their masters hanging. They certainly don’t hide. They come when called.” The ribbon cinched tighter pulling her forearms closer together, overextending her shoulders. “Where did you go after the negotiations were over? Hmm?” He leaned back against the headboard. “Did you visit the very security conscious Minister’s room that was made unplottable and put under a _fidelius?_ After I expressly forbid it? I was unaware that Hell hath frozen over. I _distinctly_ remember telling you, only _then_ could you have Shacklebolt. He is not your priority. We have too much to do before then.” 

She played the penitent and looked down at the polished tips of his dragon hide boots shined to a high gloss. She could probably see her reflection if she looked. 

“Come now ma Minette, does the, forgive the pun, cat have your tongue?”

“Lucius, I won’t do it.”

He clucked his tongue at her overstep. “Oh, Minette we have come too far to stop now. Not when our plans are so close to fruition. The evidence has been planted. You will discover it and implement him in the corruption. His government will fall; and you, Hermione Granger, incorruptible War Hero, Witch Wonder will run for Minister. Then our fun can start. As your trusted advisor, we will be able to do so much. In return, you will restore everything that was taken from me,” his gloved fingers moved down her jaw until he grasped her chin and squeezed it, “And then some.”

In for a knut, in for a galleon, she lifted her eyes met his gaze, “Please. I can’t do that to Kingsley. He is a good man. I care for him,” her voice dropped to a whisper. 

For one moment his eyes burned, the grey becoming molten silver. Then he threw back his head and laughed, “Care? Ma Minette do not be so coy. You can’t hide your feelings for him. You fancy yourself in love. What did I tell you about love?”

Hermione’s cheeks burned. “Love is the opposite of power. To be in love is to give power to someone else, that is why we fear it so.” Lucius had never gotten over Narcissa’s rejection. He still had the pieces of his wedding ring. It had broken with Magic’s judgement. He had vented his rage at her. But he had needs. Between the patronage vow and the proximity, it hadn’t taken long for Hermione to be drawn it. She found herself daydreaming what it would be like to be Lucius’s lover. She knew the answer now. Brutal. 

His voice was like velvet over steel, “Isn’t that why you gave up Weasley? Did you want him to have power over you? Some ginger nincompoop with mother issues pawing at you? At least Shacklebolt is a step up. But he is in our way. You run rings around him. Why would you let him tie you down? It’s like you don’t even want your freedom.”

And there it was. Lucius knew her buttons. Seldom did he dangle her freedom from the awful vow that tied her to him. She wanted to be free of him. To know if her feelings were her own, or if it was the vow pushing her towards him. The plan to ruin Shacklebolt was a bridge too far. She wondered what Kingsley would think of her if he knew what they planned. 

“School your face, little one. I have taught you better than that. Do not give me the stick to beat you with. After this weekend you will cool your dalliance with him. In the new year, you will ‘find’ the evidence of his corruption, as we planned. Perhaps you can even work in your romance with him and say you became disgusted when you saw the nature of his deceit. You will not like the alternatives I have in mind if this method does not work. Do you understand?”

Hermione understood. She had read all the books that Lucius gave her on undetectable poisons and malady charms that made the death look natural. “Yes, Maître.” 

“Good, very good,” The hand snaked into her and grabbed a fistful and tugged, hard. “Now that business is taken care of. To sport. It’s been too long since I have felt your touch. Free me.”

_Their affair had started as a convenience. Lucius was not able to leave Gringotts, and Hermione had shut herself off from other people. It happened on his anniversary, or what would have been his thirtieth anniversary. Hermione had come to office after an awkward evening spent at Ron’s engagement party. She could have gone home. Instead, she went to Lucius’s office._

_At her knock, she heard him storm across the space. He threw open the door and stared. Then he grabbed her, tugging her into the room only to push her up against the wall using his height to box her in. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. The magic between them crackled. The patronage vow was old magic. Hungry magic. She wanted to give what her patron asked. He, in turn, would take what she gave, gladly. She silenced her reservations by blaming the vow. She would never want a man like him._

_She had put a hand to the bottom of his jaw, pulling him towards her to smooth her lips over his._

_Then he kissed her back._

_They had shredded clothes in a rush to get them off. Skin on skin, touching, teasing, tasting. Hermione was burning. She rubbed against him like a cat in heat. She felt him enter her, filling her. For one brilliant moment, everything faded except her racing heart, his hips flexing as he pounded into her into the wall, then into the floor. The only sounds were the grunts and moans they made as they found their pleasure. After, they had parted without looking at each other. Hermione wasn’t sure if he promised himself never again. She had._

_She was a liar._

_They never made plans. It seemed to - just - happen. Stupid vow. It wasn’t anything more than that — only convenience, opportunity and Magic._

Hermione rose off her haunches and unfastened his trousers and the odd, old-fashioned pantaloons that wizards wore for underwear. His erection sprang free, a fleshy rod pale as the rest of him save for the mauve head wet with precum. “Suck.” His grip on her hair brought her face to his crotch. 

The train jerked, pushing her forward into his lap as it levelled out, arriving in the network of underground caverns that formed the right of way. The light glowed a soft orange from the gas lamps that flicked by the window. The Train gathered speed, and outside the compartment's window the strata of the earth flew by. 

Hermione inhaled. Lucius had a smell. When she was close to him like this, it enveloped her -- burnt parchment. It was a mockery of what she first smelled all those years ago in the amortentia cauldron - no mown grass or fresh parchment here. He set his messages to combust after reading, leaving a lingering scent of sulphur, magic and ash. She licked her lips before closing them around the tip, then crown of his penis. Then she did as bade and sucked. 

Lucius’s cock slid deep into her mouth. His moans were her reward. It had been two months since they had been together, she had been in Istanbul working on negotiations before the Minister had arrived. Lucius had offered to visit her, but she had begged off because she was busy. Byzantine was the kindest description for how the Turkish Ministry’s wizards argued, and the goblins were restive. When Kingsley had joined them, he ate up her free time, literally.

Both Lucius’s hands were fisted in her hair as he pushed and pulled her head along his shaft, the extra saliva pooling in her mouth, making wet smacks. He drove towards the back of her throat, her panic rising. She forced herself to relax and to breathe in and out her nose. 

“Well done, ma Minette, open for me. Your mouth takes my cock so well. “Hermione bobbed her head up and down, increasing the speed. She reached under him to gently roll his balls. On the upstroke, she twirled her tongue against him, drawing out a groan. “More sucking, less licking.”

With that, she set up a rhythm, sucking up hollowing out her cheeks, then sliding down and taking him deep in her throat. “Yes, like that. Did you learn that in one of your books, Minette? Practise on a broom handle? You must have been diligent, seldom have I had a witch who can take so much so deep.” He rocked his hips into her face. If Hermione’s mouth wasn’t full, she would have smirked up at him. As it was, she stole a glance, and he was watching her. He always did when she sucked him off. He delighted in the control.

She could feel his balls tighten, and his cock plumped. She swallowed him to the root nose nuzzled in the crisp blond hairs at his root then she pulled up, pulling her lips into an O. She felt the first salty gushes of his cum as she let his penis go with a wet ‘pop’. The cum splashed into her open mouth, her chin and dribbled down to her chest. She stayed still waiting for him to finish. 

Lucius leaned back on his hands, panting, “Well, ma Minette, you may have forgotten our rules but not how to pleasure me. You may swallow.” He pulled a handkerchief from his inner pocket and wiped the tip of his softening penis. Then he attended to her chin and breast rubbing his semen into her skin, humming as he worked.

Feathery tendrils of his magic moved around her neck, then lower over her breasts circling the nipples. The moist heat was like an ethereal tongue, ghostly lips. She felt it part the folds between her thighs and just the barest breath, then a long stroke against her slit. She purred with pleasure. The stroking was joined by a soft sucking against her clit. Only a few strokes and she gushed, wet down to her thighs. She wanted release. She needed it. 

She looked up at him need plain on her face begging him to let her finish.

He pulled off his glove finger by finger. “Would you like me to touch you, Minette? Fill your greedy cunt with my finger or my cock?”

Hermione blushed, she would like that fine. “Yes, Maître.”

His face darkened, “No. While you still harbour this tendre for Shacklebolt, I will not touch you. I don’t want another man’s leavings. But I am not a bad Maître. You may touch yourself, Minette.” 

The ribbon loosened and fell to the floor. Hermione blinked. His refusal hurt. He had punished her before by denying his touch, but this felt different. More personal. He had used her and left her wanting. There was a gnawing hurt. Not all of it was hers — stupid, awful vow.

She met his eyes and plunged two fingers between her legs, rubbing at her clit with her middle finger and allowing her fingers to press against labia. She ran the other hand up her side to her left breast tweaking her nipple until it stood out. She was close, so close. Usually, she would slow and ask for permission, but she was angry at him. She quickened her pace and allowed herself to climax. Her body tightened then relaxed with a gasp. 

Lucius’s face thundered as he sat up in the bed. Her arms clamped to her sides by invisible hands. The wet tongue of his spell stroked her folds, sensitised by her orgasm. Her engorged clit was vibrating with the magical ministrations. It was too much. 

“Minette, you didn’t ask for permission.” Without moving, he brought her to the brink, only to slow letting her crisis recede. He did it three more times. 

Hermione was writhing on the floor grinding against his ‘touch’, but she couldn’t increase the pressure, only he could change the spell. “Please, I’m sorry. I promise I learned my lesson. I will ask you first.”

He bent to brush one leather-clad finger over her seam and then her clit. The faint friction was enough to rip her world apart. She arched then collapsed back against the floor. 

He stood, tucked himself back into his pants and stepped over her. Hermione panted and gasped for air like she had been running for hours. “I will be staying with you in your compartment. You will not go to him, and he cannot stay here.”

Hermione winced. Lucius planned to share her quarters? Perhaps she could tell Kingsley she was scared of monsters under her bed. Well, in her bed. She shook her head, “I told him to come to my room tonight.”

His gaze iced over. After a long pause, he said, “Then you will exercise your witch’s prerogative and tell him you changed your mind and decided to stay in tonight. I will not share you, ma Minette.”

Lucius had taught her the value of a well-timed distraction. “Of course, Lucius,” she said quietly with head bowed. “Though I was hoping to go out tonight. I ran into someone - ran into her - while I was boarding the train. We planned to meet her for drinks.”

Lucius’s eyebrow quirked, “Her?”

“Mademoiselle Narcissa Black. I was curious where she had been hiding these last few years.” Hermione savoured the moment. It wasn’t often she could hold something over Lucius. When his bond dissolved, he forgot all knowledge of the Black properties under the _fidelius_. He knew there had to be properties but nothing else, thanks to that old Black magic. He had searched what he could of Gringotts and almost lost his nose for the trouble. Hermione had searched the archives, and her best guess was some were in France and a few in Dacia which could be Bulgaria or Romania. Narcissa hid away after the public turned on her. Draco rebuilt his image by falling in love with Luna Lovegood. If _Witch Weekly_ could be believed, their engagement was imminent. 

Lucius’s smile was vulpine, “Ma Minette, how thoughtful of you to mention that, I would be delighted to reconnect with my former and very hard-to-find wife. Go for drinks, dinner even, and amuse yourself.” 

* * *

Hermione stood in the corridor, ostensibly waiting for Kingsley. She wanted to check the warding on the doors. She assumed the door with the heaviest warding concealed Narcissa. The compartment next hers snarled and spat when Hermione tested it. Lucius would probably blast a hole in the wall when he found out who was next door. 

Kingsley made his apologies for keeping her waiting. He was resplendent in green and red with a golden fez. He bowed and offered her his arm to escort her to the bar car. They had found a comfortable pair of chairs when the sour-faced older women with the ugly little dog walked in. Seats in the car were hard to come by, even if they had been rude earlier, Hermione nudged Kingsley to stand so they could offer up their place. It was the polite thing to do.

One of the women, the one who must have taken a centaur hoof to her face, grimaced like she had smelled something foul. The second woman who looked like she might be part bulldog had commented to her friend. “I think we should stand; the chairs looked dirty.”

Hoof-to-the-face nodded, “Positively filthy, but goblins will do anything for a galleon.”

Hermione bristled at the slurs but did nothing. They were too like her Aunt Betsey, who made delicious shortbread, covered everything doilies and made casually racist comments during tea.

Not long after, Narcissa joined the room; she looked regal and severe in her black robes that whispered above the ground. Hermione had been talking to a Greek alchemist and a French mediwizard about unguent bases before she could excuse herself, the two older women joined Narcissa. Surprisingly, their crup was pawing at the younger witch’s robes begging for attention. Hermione manoeuvred herself towards them, but she only caught a snippet of their conversation, ‘...freely given --’ before Narcissa kicked the crup and stormed out of the room as if Death Eaters were after her. 

Hermione excused herself to the restroom, following Narcissa. With a silencing charm on her steps and breath and a disillusionment charm in place, she caught up to Narcissa just as she slammed the door to her compartment and threw up wards so powerful they pushed Hermione down the corridor. 

But it was the wrong room. Narcissa had disappeared in the room two doors down from Hermione. Not one door down where the snarly wards were. 

Who was in the compartment next to her?

Hermione walked back to the bar car, keeping to the shadows. Outside the bar car, she held her wand to cancel the charms when the door slid banged open, and Hoof-to-the Face and the crup barged out followed by Bulldog-Jowls who grumbled, “... make me nervous. Too smart.”

Hoof-to-the-Face responded, “I didn’t vote for him. Did you see where Granger went? She might be useful.” The crup chose that exact moment to start barking at her or where she would be if she were visible. “What you do you see Kreach? Something nasty?” A fist shot towards her. Hermione stayed still as the hand connect with nothing but the blank air to the left of her.

“This is conversation not for corridor,” hissed Bulldog-Jowls. With a nod, Hoof-to-the-Face joined him, and they walked back towards the sleeping cars. Hermione should follow them, but after the close call, her jangling nerves could use a break. 

* * *

Lucius pouted, the fresh scratches on his cheek hurt and his back ached from where it was stuck against the wall. 

After Hermione had left, he had wrapped himself in his invisibility cloak. If he moved slowly, it didn’t ripple. Then he went up and down the corridor sniffing. Narcissa adored fragrances, specifically Clive Christian. She had suffered many indignities when the Dark Lord had returned. Pouring her muggle scents down the drain ranked right up there with Draco taking the Dark Mark. When he smelled, jasmine, honey and cinnamon, he knocked. Surprisingly, she opened the door, no security spells. After alluding him for three years, to find her so easily was anti-climatic. 

“Kingsley, it’s about time…” The rest of what she wanted to say died on her lips.

He pushed her into the room and shut the door. She had pulled out her wand and started casing, wildly, shooting wide because she couldn’t see him. 

He launched himself towards her. He grabbed at her, catching one arm but her other hand came up and raked her fingers across his cheek, leaving deep gouges. She spun away and threw hexes at him. He threw up a shield. 

“ _Expelliarmus_.”

“Lucius!” It came out as a hiss. 

He removed his invisibility cloak and gave her a florid bow. “Hello, Wife.”

Her voice was flat, a sure sign she was seething. “I’m not your wife anymore. Magic judged you a poor husband and broke the bond. How are you still alive? Who was stupid enough to give you a wand?”

He waved his hand. “Magic can judge, but that was then. There is nothing that says we cannot be together again. Now that I have found you, we can be.” 

“No.”

“No?”

“Lucius, I didn’t break the bond because I was upset. Upset is what I felt when I saw lipstick on your dick from one of you whores. Upset can be fixed with a shiny bauble.” She turned away from him, ”Your actions almost killed my child. Your friends burned my home to the ground. Whatever hole you crawled out of, slither back there. I don’t want to see you again. Nor does Draco.”

“You say that now but I will get it back. Cissy, we can --”

“ _Incarcerous._ The ropes snaked around him, squeezing him like a boa constrictor making it hard to breathe. “Understand you flea, there are no words you can say that would convince me. You disgust me. If you were a normal wizard, I would put a curse on your feet to walk away from me and vanish half of your dick to make my point.” She flicked her wand and levitated him. “Or I could walk down the corridor and let the Minister know you are aboard.” She spun her wand, and he spun in a circle. ”However, you Lucius are thick. You won’t let this go. So perhaps I should eliminate the issue and kill you. Give the Auror’s a break.”

She flung him against the wall and used a charm to stick him there. “Merlin you are a ghastly decoration. You lower the tone of the whole room.” She threw the invisibility cloak over him. “I’m going to the bar car. If I kill you, I’m going to use your death for a ritual. I’ll need some alcohol for that.”

She grabbed her bag and her wrap, “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere. And if you were wondering, Draco is fine, He can’t wait to be married. He was worried about inviting you to the wedding, which won't be a problem now. I do hope Hell _mis-_ treats you well.”

* * *

Dinner was delicious, and Kinsley was excellent company, but Hermione's thoughts were elsewhere. On the walk back to her compartment, Kingsley’s arm was reassuring. She noticed a tray outside of Narcissa’s room. She had never rejoined them for dinner. The goblins must be clumsy because they had spilt something on the carpet. There was a puddle there. 

Kingsley stopped her and pushed her behind him, drawing his wand. “Hermione. I need you to get the conductor.” Hermione tried to peek around him until he threw her a quelling look.

She wasn’t leaving him for anything. She conjured her patronus and sent it to look for the goblin conductor. “What do you see Kingsley?”

“It’s not seeing as much as smelling. It smells like blood.”

Hermione realised that the air did have a metallic tang. “Is that puddle … blood?”

Kingsley nodded. He cast a charm over his hands, wrapping them in some impervious film, and then he tested the door handle. Hermione wanted to tell him not to bother because of Narcissa’s wards, but the door clicked open. 

The garish colour palette of the room shocked her. Then she realised that she was not looking at decor. The room was coated in blood. 

Narcissa Black’s blood.

* * *

## Chapter 4 Every galleon has two sides

Hermione’s patronus brought the goblins, all of them. They filled the hall with their naked sabres. Goblins were no strangers to blood, but there were sharp intakes from the when they viewed the room.

She stood against the wall as Kingsley conferred with the small conductor. As the British Minister of Magic, and a former Auror he had thoughts to share. Hermione did too, but not in the present company. 

Her stomach was in knots. She didn’t know he would kill her. It was one thing to hate your ex-wife, but it was quite another to paint the walls with her blood. Hermione had only wanted to distract Lucius. She hoped that maybe the two of them would duel and Lucius would get caught. The train was goblin territory. If Kingsley won a duel with him, he could ‘capture’ Lucius from the goblins and take the blond wizard back to Britain. Problem solved. 

Only it wasn’t. 

Lucius had been a constant in her life for the past three years. Imagining him out of her life was impossible.

She caught Kingsley’s eye a motioned to her room. Kingsley nodded, probably assuming she wanted to use the bathroom. Hermione closed the door and cast _homenum revelio_. No one was in her compartment. Hermione cast a blast of hot air, waiting for a yelp from a stubborn Malfoy. She spun in a slow circle then crisscrossed the ceiling — still nothing. 

Where was Lucius if he wasn’t in the room?

Then it dawned on her, Lucius was still _in_ Narcissa’s room. 

She waited hours for the room to clear, then she confounded the guard outside and sneaked in. The _homenum revelio_ showed a human stuck to the wall like a painting. Hermione pulled off the blood-spattered invisibility cloak and laughed. 

Lucius was trussed up like a turkey, stuck to the wall, silently mouthing words that were 95% invective and 5% articles.

Hermione cancelled the ropes and the _silencio_ and was just about to start on the sticking charm when she heard the door click open. She threw the invisibility cloak over Lucius and turned toward the door. Unfortunately, it was the wrong one. 

Kingsley had booked adjoining compartments. However, the goblin that had taken their tickets had been bribed to give the adjoining room to Narcissa and the two old ladies with the ugly crup. 

Hoof-to-the-face was first through the door, and she leered at Hermione. It was disconcerting to have an old lady look her up and down like that. Bulldog-Jowls came next dragging the crup who whimpered and did not want to enter the room. Bulldog’s eyes glittered with mania, and her mouth twisted into a cruel sneer. 

The _petrificus totalus_ came out of nowhere. Hermione would have hit the floor, but Hoof-to-the-face caught her. Then palmed her breast, tweaking her nipple.

“Open window, Lestrange, I pass her up.” 

The brusque tone of the woman was incongruent. Lestrange? Hermione wasn’t aware of any female Lestranges besides Bellatrix. The Lestrange line had died out first in France and then in Britain. The younger Lestrange brother was in the Spell Damage ward at St Mungo's from the time-turner incident during the fight in the Dept of Mysteries. Rodolphus hadn’t been found at the Last Battle; some thought he had bought it during the Battle of Six Potters when he had fallen off his broom. 

But it appeared they were wrong.

The leering woman blew Hermione a kiss before propping her against the wall to shoot a spell at the window. 

The glass separating them from the scenery vanished and the whoosh of air filled the compartment with sound. She watched as Hoof-to-the Face/ Lestrange take the crup in one hand and swing herself out the window with the other, disappearing. 

Bulldog-Jowls levitated her into a hover. Then her gnarled face filled Hermione’s vision, “Kotenok, you please me. Narcissa was necessary. But you are gift.” The hag’s hand ran down Hermione’s chest where the jagged scar from Antonin Dolohov puckered her skin and made her grimace for its ugliness. 

“Dolohov?”

“Umnyy Kotenok*, you guess good.” He floated them both out the window to the top of the train. 

* * *

Lucius had stayed silent as the entire scene played out stuck to the wall and hidden from view. If they had known he was there, he would be dead. He could beat Lestrange in a one-on-one duel, but not Dolohov, certainly not two on one.

Of course, not that he knew it was Lestrange and Dolohov at first.

Narcissa stormed back into the room and thrown up all the wards that she should have had in place to prevent him from even knocking on her door. Most of the Treasure Train security was focused on the first car that transported coins and artefacts from bank to bank. Security on the rest of the train was nominal. 

When a door popping into existence on the compartment wall, it opened to reveal two ugly, older women.

‘No!” Narcissa screeched, “You can’t have my blood. I’m not letting you bring that crazy bat back to life.” 

She fought them, but her wand was no match. Lestrange’s _expluso_ blew her apart. Dolohov rebuked him as he pulled a piece of bone from her corpse. 

He listened to the hags discussing a potion made of blood, bone, flesh. It triggered a vague memory. Then he realised they were talking about the Dark Lord’s restorative potion. Lucius broke out in a cold sweat. Not only were these idiots trying to bring back the Dark Lord. They were doing it wrong. They had taken a bone from Narcissa. She wasn’t related to Voldemort. And why did they need Hermione or the crup for that matter? Hadn’t Potter destroyed all of the horcurxes? Had the Dark Lord returned to his shade-like form? His thoughts whirled. 

Nothing made sense.

Then it dawned on Lucius. Perhaps it wasn’t the Dark Lord. 

Rod was a follower. He loved Bella, and she loved the Dark Lord. He joined the Death Eaters for her. Dolohov was a loaner and an intellectual. Rod and Dolohov were an unlikely pair, but they were friends. Perhaps they had overheard Lucius’s plans to hide in Gringotts? Dolohov had a long history with the goblins as a master curse breaker. Dolohov would try to help Rod. 

What if he had helped with other things? Of the Death Eaters Dolohov would be the only that could understand how to make a horcrux, Merlin knew, they had killed enough people. Rod would be willing to do whatever to save Bella. 

Lucius considered his next move. Lestrange and Dolohov had Hermione, and nothing good could come from that. Lucius was not about to see three years of careful development of political capital wiped out by blundering Death Eaters. He was no Merlin on a dragon, though. Who could he find that he would be willing to ride to Hermione's aid, expendable, and nearby?

The grin wrapped around his head at least three times.

Kingsley to the rescue.

* * *

Hermione’s view of the treasure in the first car was limited. Dolohov had propped her against the wall like a board. Though what she couldn’t see, she could smell. Something foul and powerful was brewing. She could feel the magic swirling through the car, and the fumes hung heavy in the air. 

There was a chair across from her with a box covered in black satin. It was a little smaller than a hatbox. She had seen Narcissa carrying it aboard the train. On a bustling platform, she hadn't taken notice. But here in the quiet room, something about it was wrong. It absorbed light, sucking it in. Hermione felt a certain kind of heaviness coming from it. A leaden weight settled in her chest when she remembered the last time she had felt like that — Hufflepuff’s cup. 

Oh Godric, the box held a horcrux.

Hermione put all her effort into moving her neck. It was stiff like when she fell asleep on her sofa. Finally, she turned enough she could see Lestrange and Dolohov standing over the cauldron, Dolohov stirred, “Is ready.”

Lestrange opened the bag and pulled out a meaty bone and dropped it into the cauldron with a splash, “Bone of the sister unknowingly given.”

He turned towards her and sneered, pulling a long knife from his belt. Time slowed down as he walked towards her. It stopped as he ran the knife tip along her jaw, not breaking skin, yet. “I’m going to enjoy this. You see Dolohov over there? He’s obsessed with you. He loves to tell me all the things he wants to do to you.” He pulled the knife down her neck and chest, running it along her breast. “You are going to beg him to kill you. Unluckily for you, he’s very good at healing charms.” He plunged the knife deep into her side, Ripping through the cloth of her robe and skin. For a moment what he had done didn’t register, and then the pain, the searing white-hot pain, surged through her body and Hermione screamed. 

He took the blood coated knife back to the cauldron and flicked it into the potion, “Blood of the enemy forcibly taken.”

Hermione wanted to clamp a hand over the wound that was spilling her blood, but her arms were still frozen. From the cauldron, Dolohov admonished Lestrange to finish so he could attend to Hermione. 

Lestrange walked over to the corner where he had dropped the crup earlier. With a wave of his hand and _finite_ the crup’s glamour melted, revealing a beaten and bruised Kreacher. The elf cowered as Rodolphus approached him with the knife. He pulled Kreacher’s leg out and brought the knife down with a dull thud separating his foot from the rest of his leg. He tossed it into the brew, and the potion sloshed against the sides, as purple smoke billowed out of it. “Flesh of the servant willingly given.”

The _petrificus_ began to break, and Hermione slumped over on the floor. The blood loss left her light-headed and woozy. She watched Rodolphus open the black box. He pulled out a tiara made of black diamonds. Hermione could hear the horcrux talking in a shrieky sing-song. She knew that voice. It meant pain, suffering, madness. 

Bellatrix. 

Rodolphus carried the tiara towards the cauldron. 

And then the explosions started. 

The door burst into pieces with a _bombarda maxima_. Goblins rushed in with sabres drawn, yelling battle cries. A hail of coloured spellfire accompanied them. Hermione enjoyed the colours, but she was cold. So very cold. She heard voices, but they attenuated moving farther away. The last thing she heard was a cackle cut short by a metallic crack and then dark liquid sloshed towards her. Her final thought as she closed her eyes was the puddle sparkled like it was made of diamonds, but it was black as night.

* * *

## Chapter 5 Sickles from Heaven

Hermione woke to a gentle rocking of the train. She was in her compartment on clean sheets. She tried to sit up and winced as the bandage on her side pulled tight across the still healing wound, 

“Missy Hermione is awake. Kreacher fetches her wizards” Hermione looked and saw Kreacher hopping to the door on his good foot using a crutch for support. 

Kingsley strode into the room. “Hermione, I’m so relieved.” He pulled on a thin gold chain. And Lucius was drawn in, the golden chain attached to the golden shackles. Of course, the restraints for a Malfoy would be gold. Lucius's face was shuttered, and he was quiet. 

Hermione looked at Kingsley and then at Lucius then back to Kingsley, not sure who she wanted to talk first. She settled on the Minister because Lucius seemed to be in no mood to share. ”Kingsley, what happened?”

“Well, Lestrange and Dolohov were trying to resurrect Bellatrix Lestrange.” Kingsley took a seat, and he gestured for Lucius to sit. “She made a horcrux using the Black wedding tiara. According to Lucy here, Narcissa had grabbed the jewels from the Black vault before she went into hiding and that included the crown.”

“Tiara,” corrected Lucius. 

“Whatever,” Kingsley rolled his eyes. “Anyway, she brought it to Gringotts to have it examined. That's how Lucius and Rodolphus/Dolohov found her. Lucius and Rodolphus, both, paid the goblins to tell if they spotted her. The Ministry paid the goblins to tell us if they came across any other horcruxes. Paid three times for the same information! I convinced Narcissa to bring it to Britain to see if a curse breaker could remove the piece of Bellatrix's soul without destroying the object. Narcissa wanted Luna to wear the crown when she marries Draco.”

“Wait? So the romantic weekend on the train was a cover?”

Kingsley smiled, “Oh no, that was definitely a benefit. And catching Lucius was a bonus. Though I should be thanking Lucius, if he hadn’t found me or blasted the Treasure car door open, I might not have found you in time.” 

Hermione gestured to the shackles and chains on Lucius. “If he is the hero, then why is he wearing those?”

“Hermione, Lucius is a wanted wizard. He will be tired. And most likely kissed.”

The air rushed out of Hermione’s body with a soft, “Oh,” She looked at Lucius, and their eyes met. She saw the barest twitch of his eyebrow, daring her to care. If he died, she was free of him and the vow. But if he lived …. 

“But the goblins are putting up a fuss, saying he is a guest of Gringotts. I was hoping that you could talk to them and smooth over this misunderstanding. I won’t lose this chance. No way, I’ll let him go free.”

Hermione nodded dumbly. Free. Freed. Freedom. It was all she wanted to be, and now it was in her grasp. 

Or not.

* * *

Hermione had met with the goblin conductor who had been unanimous in his decision that as a crime committed on goblin land would be tried by goblins. Hermione had agreed, and he had given her a hard look. He had asked her why she agreed with him. She had just smiled and asked him if she could help put the Treasure Car back to rights. 

The goblins frog marched Lucius back to the freshly cleaned and mended Treasure Car, then locked him in. Kingsley watched warily until the final lock fell into place. Only then had he turned to Hermione and asked her to his compartment, but Hermione had begged off saying she was exhausted from the evening’s events. He walked her back to her room, insisting on tucking her in bed complete with a soft kiss and his wish for sweet dreams. She was asleep before he even closed the door. 

Her mother had fallen for that act too. 

Once the door closed, she cast her most potent disillusionment charm and silenced her footfalls, then made her way back to Lucius. At the door, she turned her wand on herself, flattening her body until she was as thin as a sheet of paper. She cast a zephyr charm that blew her through the crack at the bottom of the door. 

With another flick of her one-dimensional wand she returned to three-dimensional, then she cancelled the disillusionment charm. She walked over to Lucius. He sat on the floor one arm chained to a baggage rail. “Why did you do it?”

“Ah and a lovely evening to you too Hermione,” he looked at the manacles binding his wrists, “Anytime you care to help.”

Hermione glared at him. “I won’t free you, Lucius. I shouldn’t, not after all the times you've strung me along, telling me I had to complete just one more task, and I would get my freedom.”

He huffed, “You wound me. I have always told you; your freedom comes with the Minister’s Chair. I reached for the most ridiculous thing that I could think of. Something you could never achieve in three lifetimes, and now you are within a hair's breadth of the goal.” He was quiet for a moment. “I am so proud of you.” 

Hermione was floored. This had to be another mind fuck. “No, no, you don’t get to say something like that not after all the scowls, the ridicule, the pain you put me through.”

He leaned forward, his voice low and intense. “Minette. You have been my greatest achievement. In the beginning, I had every intention of using you, breaking you. You met every challenge I set before you. You learned everything I taught you. Not even my son, the purest of the pure could have kept up with you. Severus was right; you are the kind of pupil that a teacher longs for. In a word, you are - magnificent.”

Had he been mentoring her? First, he was a terrible mentor. Second, Snape had talked about her, even praised her? The tingles shot down her spine made her wiggle. 

The cuffs opened, and Lucius rubbed his wrists. “I tried for years to teach Draco about Gringotts, the Ministry, the Wizengamot. Anything. He wasn’t interested. After the War, I was dead to him. He doesn’t even want to be a Malfoy. He changed his name to Black. Then you come along and soak up everything I tell you. You allow me a legacy that I can be proud of.” When Lucius smiled, not smirked, it transformed his face. He was beautiful.

Hermione sat next to him, leaning in. She reached her hand towards his. The gloves that he wore were gone. Her finger ran along the back of his hand. The skin was taut. Thick corded tendons stood out when he flexed his large hands. There were pale with fine golden hairs. She was poised on a knife’s edge. His praise had gone straight to her core and drenched her knickers; they were a sorry state of soggy. 

She leaned in and kissed him, a tentative kiss, but soon her mouth was covering his. Hermione poked out her tongue and Lucius engulfed it, stroking against her length. His hands were on her chest then tearing her shirt tearing open with the buttons pinging off every surface. 

He dragged her into his lap, pressing her close to him. “Ma Minette. Touching you. This is wonderful. You are soft like kitten fur.”

Hermione unbuttoned his shirt; she wanted to feel his skin too. She worked it off and started on his trousers. Impatient, he pushed her on her back. She moaned with anticipation and opened her legs, locking them around his hips to draw him towards what was quickly becoming her molten centre. Her arms circled his neck, and she whispered, “Please Lucius don’t tease.”

He worked her trousers and pants down far enough that Hermione could wiggle out of them and her shoes. She kept her socks on because warm feet are sexy. She pulled his pants over his tight butt and sank her hands into his muscular cheeks and squeezed. He pushed forward, sinking into her with a sigh. He hovered over her for a moment just watching her. Then dipped his head to flick his tongue across her nipple and kissed up her neck. His voice rumbled in her ear, “I don’t know if I can go slow.” 

“You can do it next time.” She grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. He laughed, and she thought she heard him repeat ‘next time’. His thrusts were shallow at first, but he peppered them with deep thrusts that took her breath away. He plunged into her, bracing himself on his forearms as he fell into a punishing rhythm that left her panting as she approached the cliff. He changed his angle, and he went even deeper. “Yes! Like that. Just like that.”

When his movements became erratic, she knew he was close. She felt the tingle of his magic brush across her clit, teasing and pushing her higher. Then he was coming into her, and she followed closely behind. He held himself rigid then collapsed next to her on the floor. “Next time we do it in bed.” He grabbed his shirt, transfiguring it into a blanket. “Sleep now, escape later.”

Hermione harrumphed. “Fine, but you do the oblivation. I hate that spell.” She nestled in Lucius’s arms and sleep found her. 

* * *

Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt returned from his holiday well rested but dissatisfied. Two Death Eaters had been right there under his nose. Only the quick action of the goblins had saved him from the scandal. Narcissa Black was dead, and the two tossers had almost succeeded in bringing Bellatrix Lestrange back to life. To top it off now he owed the goblins a favour, and that never came cheap. 

Injury on top of insult, he had taken the train to pursue something more with Miss Granger, his loyal aide. He had fantasies, oh so many vivid, realistic fantasies, about her. But the something more had turned into a lot less. When he had asked her to dine with him, she had politely but firmly told him no. She explained she was seeing someone very seriously in Gringotts. For the rest of the trip, she took her meals in her compartment; in fact, she didn’t leave her room at all. 

He gave him time to plan for the next campaign. He was looking at the financial numbers, and something seemed off; he had too many galleons. When he returned to Britain, he would have to investigate what was going on. Or not, having extra money would help. 

He hoped the opposition would field a good candidate this round. They had been complaining about his policies, not that he was worried. He didn’t expect they would put their money where their mouth was. 

What's the worst that could happen?

**Translations:**

Minette - (fr) Itty, bitty kitty/kitten

Statum sumat - (lt) Assume the position

Umnyy Kotenok - (rs) Clever kitten


End file.
